The Pain that Never Left
by The Way They Were
Summary: Mirabelle Tabris disappeared after five short months as Arlessa of Amaranthine. She's returned, but to what?
1. Preface

Preface:

I crept through the rafters of the Chantry silently, trying to stay true to my rogue training. With a gentle inhalation, I took in the familiarly musty scent of the place. I smiled softly, sadly, in light of why I was there. It was my fault, really, that this sadness was thrust upon me. I took full responsibility of it. I sighed quietly, trying to remember a happier day, just a week ago. Yet I could not be content with that memory, either…it was bitter as well as happy.

I'd just defeated the Archdemon. The townspeople gathered in a day of great revelry for the act. My companions—namely Oghren—threw back enough mead to make a dragon tipsy. Yet one was absent…Morrigan.

A pang of regret shot through me at the thought of Morrigan. She was…gone. My friend, my sister…gone. I should've gone after her, but she had simply disappeared. She warned me that once the Old God was gone, she would be as well. I had only hoped that she would linger to say goodbye.

My thoughts turned to another notable companion. Alistair. He refused to drink as well. I knew it was nerves more than morals. Goodbyes were said that day to all of my companions, save for Alistair. He would never accept our goodbye, and I was painfully aware. Sometimes, I doubted that I would truly be able to accept it.

But this was it. This was my final goodbye. I would attend the wedding, and nothing more. After our conversation following the Landsmeet, it'd been decided that he couldn't have a mistress. It was just as well. I couldn't have caused that pain to him, to me.

Anora? I could stand to cause her that pain.

All was being prepared for the ceremony. Elven servants—some, I recognized from the Alienage—bustled about, setting up pews and adorning them with decorations. All around the room, gentle lace and iridescent satin shone out among the servants. The pulled rolls of the fabric out, lining pews and adorning the altar.

Zevran leaned against the altar as two elven wenches prepared it. I could tell he was flirting, by the hunter's gleam in his eyes and the playful smirk on his lips. Of course, the wenches looked pissed…but his expression gave it away, too. I couldn't help but smile at that. I would truly miss him after this day, especially his lyrical voice and words. My heart clenched as I realized I would likely never hear him again. But he knew the deal as well as I did. He would watch over Alistair, protect him from attempts on his life while I continued to grow the Grey Wardens in Amaranthine.

He owed me no less, for saving and befriending a lout such as him.

I shifted in my perch and leaned against a support beam. My legs stretched out in front of me, one on top of the other so both would fit on the rafter. I settled in to wait for the festivities…however dreaded they truly were.

Once the room had been prepared with the soft white lace and bolder red satin, guests began to file in. I leaned to the side a bit to examine their faces. Some, I knew, I would likely never see again. And that added to the pit of sorrowful regret that grew restless in my broken core.

In the front pew sat Arl Eamon and Lady Isolde, next to them Bann Teagan. I disliked the lot of them, save for Teagan. It was Eamon's idea that Alistair become king. It was he who wished to appease Anora, and I knew only one way to do that. It would, sadly, be to marry the two…a thought more despicable than death. And Isolde? Well, Isolde was a bitch. I saved her son, and she still hated me.

I assumed my eyes were playing tricks on me when my gaze fell onto the man next to Teagan. Yet no matter how many times I blinked, he remained. He was a man of great poise and stature, and of greater familiarity: Sten. I held back my surprised gasp. He should've been on a ship to Par Vollen, but he must've delayed for the wedding. Something in his body language indicated tension, as if he was waiting for something. Or someone. Me, in particular.

_Sorry, Sten, _I thought, _but I must disappoint._

My eyes trailed to the second pew, since it seemed I did not know the rest in the first pew. There sat Leliana, Wynne, and Oghren's woman, Felsi. I looked for Oghren, and found him standing near a tankard of ale. I smiled wryly and shook my head, stirring loose a few strands of my fiery red hair from its bun. How typical of Oghren, to be nearest the alcohol. My eyes trailed through the room, seeking the two absent companions besides Alistair and Nel, my mabari. Yet both Shale and Morrigan were absent, not to my surprise. Morrigan had promised her absence, and Anora frankly disliked Shale enough to keep her from the wedding.

The remainder of the guests were of no concern to me. I recognized some from missions and tasks during the Blight, but I did not care for them as I did my companions. I noticed how on edge some of them were, however. I supposed they were expecting an appearance from Alistair's estranged lover.

My eyes flicked to the altar. To my surprise, Alistair was already standing there. As soon as I realized that, the procession began. Zevran took his place by Alistair's side, the Chantry Mother following soon after. I could see in Alistair's bronze eyes clearly his reluctance, as if he would not be calm unless he saw me. He looked panicked, like he was facing the Archdemon once more. It made me want to laugh, but I sobered when I realized why he looked so very flustered:

He wasn't awaiting me.

He was awaiting Anora.

His eyes darkened somberly as he looked down the aisle. I followed his gaze to the tall, golden woman striding towards him.

She looked like an angel floating down an aisle of fire and snow. Her hair cascaded down her shoulder, like strings of woven gold curled. Her lustrous white dress billowed behind her like a curtain in the breeze. The bodice fit her tightly, accentuating her deep, womanly curves and plump bosom.

She looked beautiful.

But I could see in Alistair's eyes that it did not matter. He could feel nothing but contempt for the beautiful woman.

I was exactly the same.

Their vows were short and bitter, as was the ceremony. Many of the guests continued to search the room. I supposed it was for me, but none knew where I was, save for a certain Antivan Crow. Or, rather, ex-Antivan Crow.

Once the ceremony was finished, an overwhelming ill sensation flooded everything about me.

It was over. Everything. I would never hold Alistair again, never even see him. This was it. Everything after this would be empty. Every breath would be wanting for life. Every heartbeat would be aching for love. Every word would be meaningless, every thought soulless. He simply wouldn't be there…and that would take everything from me.

I hadn't thought of it, truly…how hurtful his absence would be. It would be like a poison, taking my life…my soul. How would I go on?

I choked on my bitter sobs as they forced their way through my lips, trying to make them travel back down my throat. Tears streamed down my cheeks, the salty, warm liquid burning my flushed skin at contact. I could barely swipe the streams away before they regenerated, burning his poisonous absence further into my being.

The pain of losing him twisted deeply in my core. It was a pain deeper than any blade could possibly wish to inflict. This pain shook my being in a way that not even the Archdemon's soul passing through me could.

Silently, I crept towards the window high in the dust-ridden rafters. It had been my entrance, and was soon to be my escape. I stood once I reached the window, balancing expertly on the thin rafters. Deeply, I inhaled, the fresh air that seeped through the windows momentarily ebbing my sickness away.

Before I ducked through the window to my loveless destiny, I took one glance back. Just one.

And in that one, I locked eyes with Alistair.

He must've seen me creeping through the highest nooks of the Chantry. I must've caught his eyes, even though my armor was dulled for this very occasion. Whatever the reason he saw me, I could not take it back. I could not take what his eyes told me away from where it burned into memory.

For his eyes said what his mouth could not muster: _I am so sorry._

Tears burst through my eyes once more, and I ducked through the window to escape the emotions.


	2. Chapter 1: From Hero to Coward

A coward.

A Warden, a Hero, and a coward all the same.

That's all I was, even if in my name was written in glory and legend. Even if my legacy would surpass me in pride and age. Even if I saved my homeland and my people from the grip of death, I would never live down what I couldn't do. I would never live down the foe I refused to face. History may have been forgiving—forgetful, even—of my neglect, but I knew better than to bow to a name larger than the person. Because I was entrenched in cowardice and selfishness, and my name so revered would never reveal that.

My feet refused to move as if by will of their own. That face…I'd fed myself with so many possibilities of what would happen if confronted by that face again, my body felt repulsed by even the sight of him. It didn't made sense…I'd spent so long craving the sight of his broad shoulders and autumn-gold hair, the edge of his jaw and stubble that coated it, the confident gait that belied his nervousness. Why did I shy away from him now when he couldn't even see me?

I wasn't here for him. I hadn't even intended to speak to him, to see him. It was only cruel misfortune that he happened to be traveling the marketplace of Denerim on this day. On the only bloody day I ever returned to the site of my greatest accomplishment. On the only bloody day I resolved to swallow my embarrassment and pride and right all wrongs I'd ignored for a year.

But he was a wrong. _Oh_, was he a wrong. And I was naïve to think that I could ignore him. I never could before.

I watched in disbelief as he crossed the marketplace, not even stopping at a single vendor. I paled as I saw his destination. He was headed to the Alienage.

Not just any Alienage.

My Alienage. My home. My friends. My family. My _destination. _Andraste had one hell of a sense of humor.

With a breathy sigh, I heaved forward. Permission from my aching heart or no, I needed to do this. I could be a coward no longer.

I clenched my cowl closer to my head so my face remained sheltered from view. I didn't need some farmer-turn-merchant recognizing the Hero of Ferelden. And I really didn't need some wise-ass Antivan assassin finding out I was here, either. Sod it all, I couldn't even face one of my closest friends.

I crossed the marketplace, following his footsteps. Too soon, I found myself standing at the gate to the Alienage. My eyes trailed up to the barricade that the humans let down during purges. Its spiked ends stared down at me forebodingly, as if daring me to step through to my death. A shiver shot down my spine, but I crossed the threshold between human and elven territory anyhow.

Time to go home.

_My home is here now…with you._

The memory struck me like a slap across the face. Was it really such a short time ago that I said those words? Was it really just a year and a half since I fell into his arms in search for a home I longed for? It seemed like a lifetime ago…a lifetime full of new secrets and haphazard decisions. Just like the old one, during the Blight. Except with a much different meaning.

_I love you, Alistair._

_And I love you…always._

The "always" rang a bit hollow when he married. It rang more than a bit hollow when he told me he couldn't be with two women…even if the other was Anora. So I did my duty, and then some. I left to lead the Grey Wardens in Amaranthine, or so I said. I truly left to escape the hold that man…that king…my Warden had on me. I became an Arlessa, the first of elves. Once my job was done, I left Amaranthine to protect the only secret worth protecting. For a year, I remained beneath notice. For a year, I lived a life I never thought I would be able to live. For a year, I remained happy.

But it was over as soon as I stepped through the gates of the Alienage.

Nobody saw me. Nobody took notice of the cloaked figure lurking in the shadows. It would've been so easy to just slip back out…to just leave before anyone was any the wiser.

I ran my hands down the front of my worn leather armor in a motion of habit. I smiled subconsciously each time I hit a dent, each time I hit a memory. The largest—surprisingly—was from Loghain's blade. Quite fitting, considering how much the Landsmeet changed my life. Even the Siege of Denerim paled in comparison to the impact of the Landsmeet. Becoming a Hero was nothing to becoming alone.

Yet it wasn't Loghain's fault that I was alone. He may have caused the dent in the armor that day, but he didn't cause the hole in what lay beneath. I could claim the rights to that one.

I should've known that Alistair was too honorable a man to make me his mistress. I should've known. But I didn't. Or maybe I ignored it, unconsciously making the decision to help Ferelden rather than save my battered heart.

Or maybe I just wished too much for a happy ending in a time so bleak.

But that was a decision made. That was my past. What mattered, standing barely in the Alienage, was what I came to do. A wave of doubt crashed into my mind.

It'd been so long…would they forgive my absence? Would I still be their cousin? Their daughter? Their friend?

Maybe not…but that didn't mean that I owed them nothing.

In fact, I owed them the person I was during the Blight. It was Valendrian's teachings and philosophy that kept me calm and fair. It was my father's stories of my mother that kept me strong. It was Shianni's willfulness and inability to abandon a cause that kept me on my decided path. It was Soris' opposition to conflict that made me seek peaceful resolutions. It was Nelaros' final sacrifice that kept me brave despite all that could've gone wrong. That is what I owed them. That is the debt I had to repay.

Knowing full well what I had to do, I followed Alistair into the depths of my home.

I was not shocked to see the Alienage in the same disrepair it had always been in during childhood. It meant that Alistair had put forth money to repair it somewhat, however, considering the damage during the Blight. My chest swelled with a surge of pride at the thought of Alistair doing what I would've wanted him to do. Of course, I imagined Shianni had a bit to do with the improvements.

From the corner of my eye, a flash of bobbing red hair coasted by. Hair as deeply red as mine. I didn't have to look to know who it was, didn't even have to think. The identification was instant—instinct. Shianni.

I turned toward the red hair. Shianni's back was to me. She was speaking to someone, someone I didn't recognize. The thought paralyzed me. Was I so removed from my home and people that I no longer recalled their faces, their names? I couldn't be…no, I couldn't. It had to be someone new.

I crept along the buildings, in the shadows, to where Shianni stood. So many beggars…I sidestepped each one, voicing curt apologies when I bumped into someone. Shianni's laugh flitted out into the open air, and I paused to relish the sound. So close…I had to examine her for a moment to make sure she wasn't an illusion. She wasn't.

"It's get-drunk-before-noon day _again_, Cousin? Why do I always miss these things?" I asked when I stood close enough to have it only heard by Shianni—and perhaps her companion, but never mind the woman.

Instantly, she reeled around. Her open palm struck my face. _Hard_. And then, impossibly, she glowered at me with hate so prime it cut through my core.

"You never were one to resolve your emotions peacefully, I suppose," I grumbled, though I refused to raise my hand to rub the stinging—and likely red—skin of my cheek. "I don't know what I expected."

Her gaze didn't soften. "Where have you been?"

"Elsewhere, I suppose. Does it matter?"

Her friend made a sheepish escape as Shianni spoke, "Of course it matters. Do you realize that Soris and Valora have had two children since you left? And your father fell gravely ill not two months ago. We were lucky he survived! Meanwhile, I've been speaking for the elves in court, and in your absence, they've forgotten what they owe you."

"Really?" I asked sarcastically. "Surely, that's not true. Otherwise Alistair wouldn't have been here."

"Alistair? Oh, shit…I'm supposed to meet him and Valendrian in less than five minutes." She waved her own words away with a dismissive flip of her hand. "It doesn't matter. You have much too much to answer for."

"_To answer for_? I'm the bloody Hero of Ferelden! I disappeared for a year. So what? I have business of my own, you know."

"Your business used to be mine, too. We were like that once. All of us. You, Soris, me. And nothing mattered but that."

Her words cut into me, but I didn't let it show. "How long ago was that, Shianni? There are a lot more pressing things than family these days."

Shianni glared at me through enraged eyes. "We used to say you were so much like Adaia, back during the Blight. I see how wrong we were."

I watched her back as she walked away, in the direction Alistair had gone. That…didn't go the way I anticipated. I meant to rekindle the bond of friendship and sisterly love we'd once held, but my past actions prevented that. Shianni could hold grudges, but I didn't think that she would go as far as to slap me, or accuse me of offending my mother's name. It was then I knew that righting all of my wrongs would be much more difficult than simple apologizing.


	3. Chapter 2: Something Like a Friendship

Chapter 2

Children hustled about on the street, playing a game. One portrayed the Hero of Ferelden—a spry young girl with a red wig made from a rag. Another played the king; he held his head high, his back straight, and a stick as a sword. The rest were interchangeable—supposed companions over the Blight, though none of them stuck to an identity for long. I smiled wryly down at them. Out of everyone that deserved credit for what happened during the Blight, I was the last. Yet here I was, watching children play a game of my legend.

The Alienage seemed…different, even from my old favorite vantage point on the roof of my childhood home. Children scuttled about with more freedom than I ever remembered. People even…smiled, regardless of the poverty they remained in. It almost seemed that my legacy had lifted my people despite my failure to actually assist them. The thought left me with an oddly hollow pride.

I knew that Shianni would find me on the roof acting as if nothing had happened, and that's the way I wanted her to find me. Or maybe Soris or Valora would see a strange, cloaked figure on their roof and call the guards. _That_ would be an interesting welcome home.

Nobody came by, though. Nobody but the children saw me, and even they did not care who I was. It was…peaceful to be so unanimous even in the presence of children that idolized me. I didn't miss the fame in the slightest.

I did, however, miss my mabari hound's presence in the moment so peaceful. Nel was destructive to the point of infamy. He would've saw fit to tackle a child in excitement or otherwise disturb the gentleness of the scene. It seemed that he held a place in my legend only for his notorious capering.

The light in the sky turned lavender as the day wore on. The large group of children thinned out until it became nothing. I was left alone, waiting for cousins that hated me. A sigh pressed its way through my lips as I heaved to my feet. What was I doing? They wanted nothing to do with me anymore. It was optimistic to think that I could reclaim a life I'd long since abandoned.

I made my way down the old, rickety house by way of ledges and misplaced boards of wood on the sides. Soon, my feet hit the ground. I glided hurriedly through the darkening streets, towards the gate of the Alienage.

When I entered the Pearl, I kept my face turned down. I hurried down the hall to my door. My fingers fumbled with the iron key for my room before securing it in place and turning it. The familiar sound of the bolt sliding into the door calmed me a bit. I'd always loved that uniform sound, especially when I was lockpicking.

"Nel, pack your bags. We're going home," I called jokingly into the room as I pushed the door open.

"Surely you wouldn't drop by without saying hello to your favorite degenerate?" A sing-song voice called from the recesses of the room.

"Shit," I muttered beneath my breath.

"Is that any way to greet a friend? Tsk, tsk, Mirabelle. I would've thought better of you," the thick accent scolded, though I could hear the smile dancing on his lips.

I kept my eyes averted from his gaze. "I didn't have time."

The click of his leather boots echoed through the room as he approached me. "Didn't have time? For your closest friend?"

"I suppose."

"Ah, you've wounded me! What were you here for, if not for your companions?"

"I came to pick up something I ordered in the market."

"My dear, you are very learned in the craft of coercion, but you do not possess the skill to trick me."

"Did I ever?" I sighed and sidestepped him, still refusing to look into his eyes.

"Oh? You would walk away from me again?"

My feet froze as the horror caused by his words washed through my core. I still did not look at him. Instead, I busied myself with the preparations for my departure. Nel watched me while worried eyes, ever conscious of my state of mind.

"I never walked away, Zevran. I had business to attend to."

"Don't we all. Tell me then; what business did you attend to?"

My hands froze over my animal-skin bag. "Although you may not believe it, I do not have to tell you everything about my life. There was a time that we shared everything about each other, Zev, but that time has long passed."

"There was also a time that you told me we would forever be friends. Or has forever passed as well?"

I finally turned to face him, but halted immediately when a painfully familiar voice called out: "Zevran?"

_Alistair._

Nothing I ever experienced prepared me for the barrage of emotions that attacked me when I heard his voice. I still loved him…just hearing his voice, I could feel the warm, fluttery feeling in my stomach that love caused. But I hated him. My mind assured me of that. I hated him for being a Theirin, for loving me. Yet my hate wasn't secluded to just him. No, I hated myself for having such a wonderfully impossible love for such an agonizingly royal man.

The love and the hate were forceful, but I never expected the full power of longing that would course through my blood at the slightest contact with him. I longed to be the one to make him laugh, to make the corners of his eyes crinkle in delight at something _I'd_ said or done. I longed to see his purposefully messy copper hair and run my fingers through it. I longed to feel his tightly muscled body pressed against mine in a moment that didn't last long enough. I longed to press my lips against his, against the nape of his neck, against his forehead, against _him. _I longed for the love I knew I would never hold again.

And that longing…that need for something so unattainable racked my very essence.

Zevran opened his mouth to respond to the call, but I lunged at him. I pressed him against the wall with my body and clamped his mouth shut with my hand. Zev's smile pressed against my hand as his arms cinched around my waist, surprising me. I almost gasped in shock, but maintained my hand over his mouth.

"Do not breath a word," I warned in a whisper.

He rolled his icy blue eyes in an exaggeration sweep. One of his arms released my waist. His hand pried mine off of his mouth. He popped a saucy smirk and raised an eyebrow.

"This is quite the position you've forced upon me, my dear Warden. Were I a weaker man, I would act upon it."

I grimaced openly at him. "I'll count my lucky stars that you have some semblance of self-control."

"Zevran?" Alistair's voice called again. "Should I take your silence as a warning of your indisposition?"

"Answer him, but if you say anything about my presence, I'll lop off a couple parts I _know_ you'll dearly miss."

Zevran pressed my fingers against his lips and murmured against them, "You drive a hard bargain, my dear." He called out his next words louder. "I'm here, Alistair, but right now is not an opportune time. Perhaps I will meet you tomorrow morning?"

"Alright. Just don't take _too_ long."

I listened until the thud of Alistair's steps turned into silence. When I felt sure that Alistair could no longer hear, I shrunk my body away from Zevran's. He straightened his spine a bit and smiled seductively at me as I backed away.

"If I may ask, what parts were you going to lop off?" He questioned, and his smile stretched into his voice.

"Your favorite parts. What was Alistair doing here?"

"We've been working together on something."

"What?"

"As you should recall, we no longer share every detail of our lives. Why should I tell you?"

I glowered at him and took a threatening step closer. "Because I am in no mood to play games, Zevran. Do not think that our past will stop me from getting the information I want."

Zevran laughed haughtily at my threat. "Very imposing, Mirabelle, but I do not fear a woman so far out of practice."

I did not let my surprise show. "Out of practice? Zevran, I was out of practice when the Blight began. Need I remind you how that ordeal ended?"

He held his hands up in defeat. "No, no, I was there for that." He regarded me for a silent moment before speaking again. "I propose a deal: an answer for an answer."

I smiled slightly in memory of the hermit in the Brecilian Forest. An answer for an answer, a question for a question, though I supposed Zevran's game would be a bit more straightforward. I nodded my head in spite of how difficult Zevran's questions would likely end up.

"Good. Where did you go for a year?"

I took a deep breath in preparation. "There's a small town about two weeks' travel to the west of Amaranthine. They call it Riveredge. I've lived there for the past year in anonymity."

Zevran clucked his tongue. "And to think that I failed to look so close to home!"

I shook my head. "It doesn't matter now. What are you and Alistair working together on?"

"To find you, of course! Among other things."

"Hmph." I didn't like being searched for.

"Come now, don't look so down. Why did you leave Amaranthine?"

I shuddered slightly. Did I dare tell him the true reason? Did I dare tell him what I would give my life to hide? "I wanted to see if I could disappear and live a normal life." Apparently I didn't.

He raised a skeptical eyebrow. "This is what you refused to tell me? Come now, there must be something else."

I shook my head again. I couldn't tell him. "Just that. What 'other things' were you working with Alistair on?"

"That, I cannot tell you, just as you cannot tell me why you really left Amaranthine. If you wish to know, ask our bastard king. Beyond that, I cannot assist you."

Grimacing, I turned back to my pack. "Just as well. I don't need to be persuaded into his life again." I dared a glance over my shoulder, to Zevran. "Do not follow me when I leave, okay? I just want to disappear."

Zevran stared into my eyes emotionlessly. Finally, I turned my gaze back to my packing. Only when I turned away did he speak: "We need you, Mirabelle. I am not speaking as an Antivan, an assassin, or even as a friend. I am speaking as an elf. Without you, the nobles do not remember. If you will not stay for your friends, stay for your people."

I cinched my bag closed forcefully. Why did everyone insist that I was the only one to help the elves? They seemed to be doing as well as they ever did. Why did every responsibility fall on my shoulders? I deserved a bloody life away from my bloody responsibilities.

"Please."

"Maker's breath, why is it always me?" I asked with a huff as I heaved my bag onto my shoulders.

Zevran's hand clapped my shoulder forcefully. "Because you are a dashing, resourceful, cunning woman. And shallow flattery may not help my plea, but when has it ever?"

"Never, Zev. Never."

"Will you stay?"

I clamped my eyes shut. "Do I have a choice? Especially when you compliment me so. Really, Zevran, _you_ should be in court."

"Ah, your tongue is as ripe as ever!" He took my hand and forced me to face him. I opened my eyes. "You have an estate with the others, no? Why not stay there? Alistair called a Landsmeet not long ago, so the other nobles are arriving. Nobody would notice you."

"What about the serving staff?"

"You're the Hero of Ferelden. They'll have no choice but to gawk."

"How grand."


	4. Chapter 3: The Moment Before Grandeur

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: So, this chapter is going to be less than exciting. It's the chapter right before the Landsmeet, and Mirabelle is getting ready for it. However, there are some important details in it—along with some less-than-important details, but hey…it happens. Enjoy!**

The business of finding something to wear to a Landsmeet proved much more taxing than I'd expected. The former Arlessa of Amaranthine—Rendon Howe's wife—left quite a collection of large and busty dresses in the estate in Denerim. None of these proved overly useful to a woman of my build. Short, toned muscles, thin, small breasts. Her…larger dresses didn't exactly fit to form.

My servants, awed at meeting the Hero of Ferelden, didn't help much. They bumbled and blustered around me, trying to take tucks into a dress with more fabric weight than I had body weight. In the end, they failed and tried to apologize. I waved their apologies away with a flip of my wrist.

"It's no great tragedy. I'll just go in my armor," I said as I pulled the dress from my body.

My maidservant—a young blonde human woman of about twenty years—shooed the other servants from the room and turned to face me, her hands on her curvy hips. She shot me a surly look. "My Lady, I must object. It is improper for a lady to appear anywhere without sufficient dress."

"What's your name?"

"Gwyneth, My Lady."

"Gwyneth, I have never appeared anywhere with any sort of sufficient dress besides a battlefield. I've appeared at a Landsmeet before with bloody leather armor. The same leather armor, in fact, that I intend to wear to this upcoming one. If you wish to have dresses tailored for me for any upcoming events, so be it. Just know that it will take a lot of force and effort to get me into them."

Gwyneth's lips curled into a reluctant smile. "I figured you'd say as much. You have quite the reputation for being stubborn. Be that as it may, you still need to appear somewhat presentable. It would be an insult to my skills if you didn't."

I didn't even attempt to suppress my groan. "Do my hair, if you must." I tugged it from its secure bun and allowed the locks of rose-red hair to tumble down my shoulders.

Gwyneth stared at the shining mass of hair in blatant awe. "My Lady, you do yourself an injustice by hiding your hair. It's marvelous."

"And burdensome in a battle. Do what you will with it."

I closed my eyes as Gwyneth worked her hands through my tangled locks of hair. It took her a long while of working and weaving the strands before she finally stopped. I'd almost fallen asleep by the time she was done, and I reluctantly opened my eyes.

I looked…stunning. Gwyneth had arranged my hair into loose ringlets that graced the tops of my shoulders and disappeared down my back. The top of my head of hair had been braided back with jeweled pins decorating the braids. The fiery quality in the color of my hair shone through with more intensity than I'd ever seen it shine before. I almost wished for a dress to complete the elegance of my appearance.

"What did you put into it?" I asked as I touched the top of the patch of braids gingerly.

"Oil imported from Orlais. The old Lady of the House always had crates of it in the cellar. I figured you wouldn't mind if I used some."

I ran two fingers down the pattern of the braids. "I can see why she had it."

Gwyneth shifted her weight on her feet. "Yes, well there you have it. Are you sure I can't convince you into a dress?"

I smiled cynically at her through the mirror. "I'm sure." I stood up and shook my legs, trying to stir the sleep from them. "But I think I will wear the dress armor I had ordered for my arling instead of that old thing." I gestured to the armor Wade made for me during the Blight. It was my favorite set of armor, but…the dress armor I'd ordered over a year ago had special meaning, and I knew someone in particular that would appreciate it.

"Gwyneth? Who knows that I'm here?" I asked.

The short woman bustled over to me, carrying a set of smallclothes to go under my armor and over the set I wore now. "In Denerim? Not many. That Antivan fellow made sure that the servants didn't speak a word of your arrival."

I slipped into the smallclothes with her help. "Good. Does the king know?"

"Unless one of my girls or your Antivan told him, no. And none of my girls are friendly with the royalty," Gwyneth replied as she crossed the room to the armor stands I'd had set up over a year ago.

"Do you know why the king called a Landsmeet?"

"I'm as in the dark as everyone else. Your Antivan might know, though."

"Why hasn't the king announced it?"

"Nobody knows. It must be something important to call so many nobles up here. Denerim hasn't been so hectic since the Blight," Gwyneth complained as she returned with dark plate boots.

I helped her clap the boots on and cinched them as she returned to the armor stand. "Well, let's make sure my comeback makes it all worthwhile."

"Are you not even a bit worried that your guard is in Amaranthine? Won't some people want you dead?"

I smiled coyly at Gwyneth as she carried the next bit of armor—the leg covers—over. "They'd have to kill me, and that in itself is a feat nearly impossible."

"Is that bravado, My Lady?"

"Well-earned, as some would say."

"And well-practiced," an Antivan accent interjected. Zevran entered into view. He shooed Gwyneth from the room. "Give us some privacy. The Arlessa and I have some business to attend to."

"Do we?" I asked with a sigh.

"Don't sound so excited," Zevran laughed as he closed the door behind Gwyneth.

"I'll try not to. What do we need to talk about?"

"Your entrance. It has to be grand, no? Their hero, returned from a long voyage to…Riveredge. Who wouldn't want a fantastic entrance?"

I rolled my eyes. "Fetch my breastplate, will you? Seeing as you've sent my maidservant away, you could do no less."

Zevran trotted over to the armor stands, talking all the while. "I was thinking that you could burst in during the Landsmeet, interrupt Alistair mid-speech. Ah, the theatrics." He examined the stands for a moment. "Which one? This middle set with the flower on it?"

My breath hitched in my throat. The flower. The rose. "Yes, that one. Bring it over here. I want to see it."

Zevran hoisted it off the stand and carried it over. He held it up in front of me and allowed me a moment to examine it. The plate itself was a deep purple, almost black. Like a night's sky, but without the stars. A pattern of looping stems with leaves and thorns were etched across the collar. The same pattern looped in a circle around the rose in the center of the breast. The rose modeled after a sketching I'd made of the flower Alistair had given me during the Blight. I knew it would not survive forever, and the sketch was the only thing I had left of it. Until the armor.

I designed the armor in a fit of rage against Alistair. I wanted him to feel the pain that I felt when I lost him whenever he saw a soldier from Amaranthine, whenever he saw the Grey Wardens riding through Ferelden. In the end, I felt the pain when I saw the armor. I felt the longing, the craving for Alistair every time I saw the armor. It seemed fitting that I would literally bear the burden on my shoulders every time I wore the armor. Cruel, but fitting.

"I am surprised you are wearing such heavy armor to this. You do not think it will weigh you down?"

I stared at the plate for a moment longer before replying, "It does not matter, Zevran. It is the armor of my arling, and I have disrespected them enough in my absence." I paused for a moment. "I have a question, if I may."

"You may."

"Why is no one else from Amaranthine attending the Landsmeet? Surely some of my Banns would."

"Amaranthine has been a bit more than reclusive since you disappeared. You must understand, they do not have time to attend political functions while they are in such disrepair."

I nodded. It made sense, though I was a bit disappointed that no friendly faces would be there. I could stand to have as many allies as possible, and I didn't think that my disappearance granted my name much support.

"Help me into the armor, will you?"

Zevran flashed me an impish grin. "I'll be gentle, my dear. Don't you worry."

"Shut up, Zev."

The Antivan didn't reply. He pulled the chest plate over my head instead. We worked together tightening it to my body. I didn't say anything when his fingers brushed deliberately against my smallclothes, but I did shoot him a few warning glances. He didn't seem to take notice.

"There, my dear, you are quite more than ready. At least in appearance, that is."

"Have any ideas for my entrance?"

"Do not trip."

I rolled my eyes and slipped my gauntlets over my hands. Whatever happened, it was going to be interesting.


	5. Chapter 4: Just One Question

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'm so sorry for not updating sooner. This chapter was difficult to write. (I basically wrote it in 4 different ways before I cooked this one up.) I'm not exactly "happy" with how it turned out, but it's an awkward one to write. I'm just glad I'm finally done with it.**

The doors of the royal hall loomed over me like the archdemon, except more condescending. The Landsmeet had begun already, but I couldn't bring myself to enter. Alistair stood right behind those doors, so close…so reachable. The thought paralyzed me. For so long, I'd fled from the man that I once claimed to always love. And I did love him. No, I still loved him, and that was all I was sure of. I loved Alistair.

I just didn't know how much I still loved him. I'd avoided him for almost a year and a half. I only agreed to go to Amaranthine to get away from that constricting dependence I had with him. I couldn't possibly be prepared to see him again. No, I wasn't prepared.

I spun on my heels to leave, but didn't move any further. So much running…was it all worth it? I'd battled against myself for so long trying to keep away from Alistair, but did I need to? If I walked through those doors, would that love that held us together only a year and half ago pull us together now?

Would he be able to pick me out of the crowd? Would his eyes lock on me as surely as mine would lock on him? Would my presence hurt as much as his would? Would he have moved past me, or would he be stuck in the perpetually hopeless state of love that I was in?

Would he look at Anora the same way he used to look at me?

With reliance? With fondness? With lust, passion, love?

_I miss him so much, but does he miss me?_

"Mirabelle, what are you doing?" Zevran's voice called, and he stepped into view.

I almost growled him. I did not need him to be there, not in that moment. "Dammit, Zevran. What are you doing here? Why are you always here?"

"I make it a habit to be around gorgeous women." He stopped in front of me and crossed his arms. "Aren't you supposed to be in there, making your great return?"

"Am I? I don't even know if I want to return, Zev."

"I am done with this woman you have become. Your temper is infamous, yet you are like a fire burnt to ashes. You made the Wardens an order to be respected, yet you ran. What possesses you to be like this? Surely not bravery nor commitment."

"You wouldn't know, Zevran."

"Maybe I would not. Maybe nobody would know your pain, but that does not excuse you from your duty." He held out his hand. "Give me your hand."

"I won't marry you," I warned sarcastically.

"And I wouldn't marry you. Give me your hand."

I placed my hand in his. He pulled a dagger from the recesses of his armor and placed in firmly in my hand. With force, he closed my fingers over the hilt. I stared down at his tan hand covering the deep purple of my gauntlet.

"I'm not going to kill the nobles, Zevran. I think that would be frowned upon."

He laughed quietly. "It is quite like you to ruin a moment as this. My friend, I will leave you with this: They will all be very put out with you if you do not return the fierce woman you left as."

"As well as they should be," I whispered. "Thank you, Zevran. What did I do to deserve you?"

"Well, you didn't kill me."

"No, I didn't."

"Good luck."

"I'll try. That's all I can promise."

"And that's all I want."

I turned back around and stared at the door again. I listened as Zevran padded away, and wished him back at my side again. Confidence in numbers, but I didn't call out. For once, I had a battle that was all my own, and I couldn't call on the loyalty of my friends to help. It wasn't an overtly comforting thought.

I tried to make my entrance as discreet as possible, and the frenzy of angry nobles helped a bit. I attracted some eyes, but nobody made a ruckus over my presence. It figured that they wouldn't recognize me anymore. Nobles seemed to have such short attention spans. I stuck to the wall and crept alongside it. My gaze didn't rise to meet anyone else's.

"You can't just expect us to fund a witch hunt, Your Majesty!"

"We can't just let her leave, though. We owe her our lives," Bann Alfstanna's voice cried out in protest. I was surprised I recognized it.

"This is a little bit out of the blue, Alfstanna. The people don't long for her presence like they did a year ago. I say we let her disappear into history like she's supposed to."

"What if we need her again? What do you propose we do then?" another noble countered.

"We have armies. We aren't defenseless."

"She was an army by herself."

A large voice boomed from the center of the room. "Enough! We have been here for two hours, arguing the same points again and again. We will return tomorrow with fresh minds, for I do not see a point in continuing like this."

_Anora_.

The nobles—all grumbling and complaining—began to filter from the room. I remained in the shadows, trying to obscure my face from view. I needed to approach Alistair alone…as difficult as that may be. I watched as they all shuffled into the hall, some still arguing, others trying to leave as quickly as possible.

They were arguing about me. Me. Finding me. Searching beyond just the skills of Zevran. It seemed that I would've been forced to return to Denerim eventually, even if I hadn't attempted to contact Shianni. I was glad I'd returned on my own whims, and not those of nobles.

During my efforts not to be detected, Alistair and Anora had left. Further into the castle, I presumed. That posed a bit of a problem for me. I still didn't want to be recognized, and delving into the castle was a great way to do the exact opposite.

Fierce. Zevran said to be fierce. Not timid, fierce.

I scanned the room for someone that might not recognize me. A few servants remained once the whole of the nobles had gone. Good. Perfect. At least if a servant recognized me, their master might not believe them.

I approached one of the friendlier looking servants. "Pardon me, but where might I find King Alistair?"

He didn't even look up from his broom. "The royal couple has gone to lunch. If you wish for an audience, one of their lesser lords might be able to assist you."

"I'm sure I won't bother them. Where do they lunch?"

"In the dining hall, unless some ladies of the court have stayed to lunch with the queen. In that case, you might find the king in his study." He glanced up at me. "I wouldn't bother them unless you've some urgent matter."

I smiled coyly at him. "I'll think of something, I assure you."

He gave me a heavy sigh and shook his head. "If you'll excuse me, I've work to do."

I wove through the hallways in a sad attempt to locate the study. Every door I opened turned out to be a guard barrack or guest bedroom. Servants gave me the strangest looks every time I exited a cellar or washroom. Eventually, I asked a guard for directions. That didn't exactly go as planned (though, in hindsight, it was a poor plan). They seemed to think I was a stupid assassin or some such. It took a little unnecessary force to turn them from the notion.

Miraculously, I never ran into Anora during the fiasco. Or anyone that recognized the Amaranthine armor. Or the Warden Commander.

Eventually, I reached the study. I touched the door tentatively, letting only my fingertips brush the dark oak. _Fierce._ With a bit more force than truly required, I heaved the door open. Alistair's back was to me, in a chair across the room. He didn't look up from the parchment he sat hunched over.

I studied his figure silently, mesmerized by the sheer proximity of him. Memories of our time flashed through my mind in an irresistible flurry. My fingers, running through that tuft of messy hair, tracing his stubbly jawline. Conversations held quietly in the dead of night with no other sound but the crackling of fire outside our tent. His fingers digging into my hips in a moment of ecstasy. Us, both quivering nervously, exploring physical love for the first time—

_No! Too much…too much._

I pressed the door shut with my body. I had to feel his body pressed against mine again. I had to be weak just one more time…no. No, fierce.

"Set the tea on the desk, please," he called.

My breath hitched in my throat. That voice…he used to call my name so gently, so lovingly. He used to call me "Dear" as if the whole world was watching, as if he'd be scolded if he didn't treat me like a lady. He used to laugh with me, used to joke so freely. Now he didn't know where I was, even if I was so close. When I lost him, I wasn't able to sleep. How could he rest when he didn't know where I was?

"Mhmm," I hummed quietly, just to keep the charade up for a moment longer.

_Fierce_.

"I have a question, if I may."

His back shot straight, rigid, but he didn't turn around. He didn't look to me, as if I would disappear if he did. He didn't speak, as if I would shatter at the sound.

"Have you ever licked a lamppost in winter?"


End file.
